The Nutcracker Bleeds (21 page)

He
couldn’t say a word, for then they would know about him. If they knew what he
knew, he wondered if they would still act this way, as if all of this mattered.
He was sure they would not.

All
it took was a simple understanding–an
understanding
that none of them
actually existed.

4

“The
Three are a group of soldiers who always stay with the princess, even in play,”
Anne had said.
“I
don’t know how much of a threat they will be, but they were created to be her
protectors. If toys have roles, then they will be true to theirs. They’re
likely with her now.”

The
nutcracker considered this new predicament. He would like to have a look at
this ‘
three
’, but on the other hand, he’d just as soon look at them as
to slice through them. They wouldn’t be able to stop him. No one could.

Anne,
in the meantime, had let her eyes drift to the side, landing on a pile of doll
clothes that had been pulled from a drawer and disregarded in the haste to
leave. A few dolls rummaged through them quietly. These were nice things, but
most appeared to be male attire, designed specifically for the Three.

Without
giving any word to her companion, she started off toward them, but Armand was
quick with his attention. He followed her swiftly.

She
took care to stay away from the other dolls, but they looked much too absorbed
in their own business to notice her. She pulled up the first dress she saw.

Too
large.

The
second she found was too short and would simply show too much of her skin.
Finally, she found something descent. It was long, the sleeves were long, and
it wasn’t entirely hideous. It was a nice creamy color that wouldn’t stand out
too much. Even though the neck dipped just a bit, it was likely the best she
would find.

She
held it up, opening her mouth to ask Armand if he thought it was good enough,
but stopped when she saw that he’d apparently found something for himself.

He
pulled on a long coat that was almost the very same deep blue of his wooden
suit. Almost. It fit decently; perhaps a bit small across the chest, but it did
well to hide the ridges against his sides and nearly concealed the ones on his
arms completely. It was a good disguise for him. Unless one looked terribly
close, one would never guess he was a nutcracker, and might make him less
likely to be identified by the Rat King’s agents.

Armand
tied the straps that held his sword to the outside of the coat and looked over
to her. She was watching him, and after a short moment she brought the dress to
his attention. He gave a nod, letting her know it was good enough.

Anne
looked around for some place to change and spotted a small round table with a
cloth hanging over it to the floor. He saw her see it, and they moved toward
it. After he’d checked beneath it like a parent peering under the bed skirt for
monsters, she went inside. He waited.

She
worked quickly, and in a few moments she emerged wearing the gown she’d found.
It fit her nicely though still clinging more than suitably, but at least it did
not drag the floor. It would not hinder her if she had to run.

He
looked over her a moment. It was…pretty.
She
was pretty. But he had no
time to look at pretty things.

Armand
moved toward the castle–house wherein his business awaited him, but a tug to
the lapel of his new coat made him stop. Anne motioned him down toward her, and
though he was unsure, he conceded. He leaned forward a bit. Her hands wrapped
around his neck and pulled the long hair loose from where it was flattened
beneath the coat. She gathered it over his left shoulder and gave a nod of
satisfaction for the look of it.

Surprisingly,
her hand lingered in the white strands a moment. They looked at each other,
both oddly curious about what the other was thinking, but neither of them
spoke.

And then
the silence that had seemed to gather around them was torn apart by screams.

From
the shafts, the sound rang like the bells of the Judgment. Toys began to flee
from the passages and back into the room, some of them carrying pieces of their
own body. From the mass that spilled back into the area as if the house had
vomited them back up, evil slipped. Armand gripped his sword.

And
the princess’s kingdom was invaded by dozens of bladed, cackling puppets.

1

Princess
Pirlipat screamed. The sound had simply burst forth from her without reason,
but still, she
knew
. Something was wrong! The evil had come!

“What
is it, princess?” Lakke asked her, hurrying to her side.

Her
worried eyes lifted up to the soldier–one of her three princes–but she knew he
could not protect her now. All hope faded from within her.

“Something
has happened!” she gasped, clenching Lakke’s hands.

Elizabeth
… Pirlipat prayed
silently.
What should I do?

2

Below
the face of the watchful clock that sat high in the tower, wicked puppets with
blades for arms cut down the fleeing toys of Pirlipat’s kingdom, but if one had
looked closely, they would see that there was not so much cutting down as there
was
causing panic
. The toys scattered, and that was exactly what was
wanted.

The
marionettes carried on, enjoying their work. They poked stuffed animals with
their pointed hands, ripping off tails. They chased pretty dolls around in
circles, laughing maniacally like mischievous sprites. Any soldier that tried
to oppose them was damaged.

There
was a tall soldier doll with white hair and a blue coat standing to the side,
unmoving, and when a group of the puppets saw him, he became their focus. How
dare he simply stand there like that without an ounce of fear on his wooden
face? They would teach him what terror was! They rushed at him, but he did not
flee. They raised their weapons to strike him down.

He
raised his own.

Splinters
of wood flew in all directions as Armand chopped through the limbs of the puppets,
knocking off their weapons so they could do no more harm. He didn’t bother
destroying them. He didn’t have time for that, only needing them out of his
way. Anne stayed behind him as he’d instructed. He’d promised her that she
would be safe, and as he’d promised, not one of the puppets made it past him,
simply falling over without the use of their arms and legs.

Behind
him, Anne watched the display of swordsmanship. This was no blind act of
self–defense; there was skill here. True skill. Where had this nutcracker come
from? She needed to gather more pieces of this puzzle to figure it out. He
certainly was not going to piece it together for her. For now, he was only her
protector. Her cruel, secretive, domineering, selfish…

Strong,
focused…

She
banished those thoughts immediately. There was some demon inside, taunting her.
The devil was whispering in her ear. She would not fall completely into this
world. She could not! Succumbing to this, which was anything but normal or
substantial, would surely be death.

But
it’s too late
,
her self told her.
You’re already convinced this is real. And you’re
actually starting to care.

Her
head jerked to the side, wincing for the thoughts and hoping for her freedom
from them–but she saw something helpful there, and her eyes lit immediately.

“Armand!”

The
nutcracker batted away the last attacking puppet with his arm, knocking it
down. He turned back toward Anne; saw that she was pointing toward the
princess’s keep. He traced her gaze.

The
doors of the castle house were open and two lean figures were peering out.
Open
.
Easy access.

“Go!”
he instructed, and the two of them dashed for the entrance.

3

It
was terrible, actually, that the princess herself was the one who had insisted to
allow them inside–these two of the three persons who were to eventually become
her murderers. The princess could not allow her people to be outside in this
attack, and since Anne and Armand were the only ones coherent enough to attempt
running to the castle, they were permitted inside. But the doors were shut
promptly afterward.

Some
marionettes had been chasing them, as they saw through the closing doors, and
Armand helped to barricade the door firmly. Anne peered around the entrance room,
seeing that it was rather plain and small, adorned only with a large staircase.
Why not? It was a dollhouse, after all, but the floor, however, seemed to be
made of tile.

Princess
Pirlipat and her three soldiers were in this room. She stood beside one of them
with her hands clasped together near her face, while the other two were busy
with locking off the door by laying large pieces of wood across it that had
been on hand for just a situation.

As
the last board fell into place, they were all locked away together in the
house: the nutcracker, the Three, the princess, and Anne. Tension from many
different sources was taking the air right out of the room. Outside, puppets
slashed at the doors.

“What
has happened?” the light–haired guardian of the princess demanded. “Where did
those things come from?”

“Where
did
you
come from?” demanded the one with the flaming hair, glaring
menacingly at Armand and stepping in front of his princess.

They’d
not recognized them as members of their kingdom? Was it possible that the
soldier could sense the threat? Anne began to feel uneasy.

“You’re
a sharp one,” Armand commented blandly. “We’re, in fact, from another kingdom,
and if you’d like me to say that we mean no harm here, you have my deepest
apologies. Because we do.”

Pirlipat’s
eyes focused on the tall toy before her, staring into the hollow of his eyes.
Anne saw that fear in the princess’s eyes. The woman stood off to the side,
seeming unattached to anything that was happening as if looking through a
window. She watched it all unfold, clenching the unlit cat’s eye to her pale
dress.

Armand
was the focal point of the entire specter. The princess could not take her
fearful gaze off him. The red–haired guardian sneered in anger. The blond one
was aghast. But the dark–haired one… He was different. He wasn’t paying any
attention to what was going on.

He
was looking at
her
–at Anne, staring intently with firm eyes. What was in
those eyes? Distaste? Longing? Understanding? She couldn’t tell. Eventually, he
looked away, and Armand’s words brought her back as well.

“I’ve
come to destroy her by the order of a higher authority, and don’t be fooled: I
expect you to stand in my way. But that’s your choice. You can no doubt guess
the consequences.”

“As
you, no doubt, have
considered your own by even coming here and bringing
those puppets with you!” shouted the red–haired soldier.

The
nutcracker did not deny that the marionettes were his doing, even though they
were certainly not under his command. It would have done no good. This soldier
was ready for a fight.

Rivere
reached into his coat and withdrew a long chain that unwrapped from around his
upper body like a coiled snake. He smacked the end against the floor like a
whip, his gaze not breaking from Armand. If one had looked close enough, they
might have seen a smile on his glass mouth for the pending battle.

“Take
the princess and go,” he instructed. “Both of you.”

“You’re
going to face him alone?” Lakke asked, uncertain about it.

“I’ll
be along shortly,” Rivere promised with arrogance.

“Rivere…”
Pirlipat tried to reason, but she must have known the soldier wasn’t listening.

Brooke
looked at Armand, nothing revealed on his face. He looked at Anne once again,
and she was sure she saw something specific there this time. His eyes were speaking
to her. It was too bad that she couldn’t hear them.

Taking
the princess’s arm, the brown–haired soldier hurried off with her. The blond
one followed.

Anne
quietly and slowly backed herself into a corner. None but the brown–haired
soldier had even seemed to notice her, and she would do well to keep it that
way. She couldn’t protect herself in a fight like this. Best to let Armand
handle it, and any way that she could stay out of his line of attack was the
right way.

Rivere
raised the chain. Armand gripped the screw–rapier. Anne pressed her back
against the wall and held her breath.

4

Three
pairs of feet–two of them wooden, one made of porcelain–moved through the dark,
second–floor portion of the castle house. Within the sitting room filled with lovely
couches, one of those pairs halted.

Princess
Pirlipat peered back toward her lingering soldier, and the one who had been
pulling her along stopped as well. Outside the walls, sounds of chaos touched
her fearful ears. She was no longer sitting in her throne room, knowing that
her kingdom was silently falling apart. Now it was crumbling in a different
way, and the sound made her unable to ignore it. She was a brave princess, but
now, she feared for her own life above all else.

Lakke
had stopped in the midst of the room, looking back behind them in uncertainty.
She wanted to demand what was wrong–to scold him for stopping when this was so
serious!–but before she had the chance, he was speaking.

“We
left him down there,” he said, seeming to just realize it. “Rivere is capable
but that other soldier was larger in scale. Two of us would have meant a sure
victory, but we left him!”

Uncertainty
filled her eyes. She might lose her kingdom and her home, but she would not
lose them. He was right about Rivere, but what if none of them could stand up
to the mysterious assailant? Behind her, Brooke stood silently.

“I’m
going back!” Lakke said without even turning to look at her. The soldier with
the golden hair dashed through the room to the stairs.

“Lakke,
don’t be a fool!” the princess screamed.

But
then something else had happened. It was a flash of black and silver lightning
rushing past her. It disturbed her hair and startled her into releasing a short
scream. Brooke had darted past, and was immediately behind his fleeing brother.

Brooke!
Pirlipat was
about to insist he talk some sense into his brother Lakke–they could not go
back–but she did not get the chance.

From
within the sleeves of Brooke’s black coat, a pair of blades that had been
removed from letter openers extended–his chosen weapons. Within a single
moment, one of those blades had buried itself in the back of Lakke’s wooden
head, not killing his brother, but making it impossible for him to move further
away.

Lakke
yelled in pain, Pirlipat covered her mouth, and a quick jerk flung the blond
soldier off the blade and across the room.

Lakke
hit against the wall, denting the soft wood and crashing to the floor on his
back. The damage to his wooden skull disoriented him. The room spun and he
could hardly focus on anything before him. He saw his princess. She was
frightened. What had frightened her?

“What
is the meaning of–!”

That
was all that was able to exit Lakke’s mouth. One of Brooke’s blades had stabbed
through the glass face of his brother, damaging the wood and cracking the
countenance–that was very much like his own–into pieces. Lakke had once again
returned to lifelessness.

Pirlipat
did not understand. She was crying silently, and yet no tears were running down
her cheeks.

“W–hy?”
she managed to choke, hiding her face within her hands.

Retracting
the blades back into his sleeves, Brooke looked over his shoulder at her with
one brown eye–one that she had once seen warmness in. There was no warmth there
now. There was nothing.

Pirlipat
tried to flee from the sight, turning on her heels and sliding a bit,
struggling to escape. Why had Brooke turned against them? He had been her hero
once. Now he would be her slayer?

A
firm grip on her long curls pulled her backward, and she screamed in pain and
fear. Pirlipat knew then that it would end this way. There was no escaping.

Then,
she heard his voice. It had become such a foreign sound.

“I’m
sorry, my princess,” the dark–haired soldier said. Was that a faint note of
sorrow in his voice? “But I must insist that you come with me.”

5

The
entry room of the castle house had quickly become a wreck. Holes were knocked
in the walls and floor from the vicious lashes of Rivere’s chain whip. Armand
would have to admit that this soldier was much more impressive than he’d
anticipated. The three of them together would be a force to reckon with, even
possibly causing serious damage to the nutcracker. But they could not kill him.
He was certain of that.

The
princess’s soldier managed to dodge nearly every attack that Armand offered.
Armand, likewise, averted his attempts as well. Together, they tore the room
apart.

Armand
took the sword of glass into both his hands, slashing heavily instead of
jabbing with the screw. Still, the soldier dodged, lashing out with his
polished, silver whip.